


Not Far From the Tree

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Stark, Naked [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU: camboy, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Sex Worker Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Some months after his wedding to Bucky Barnes, Camboi Tony Stark of the Stark, Naked show, gets an invitation to have lunch with his mother.Surely she wouldn't invite him to lunch just to yell at him, right?





	Not Far From the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second "sequel" requested from March Madness 2019.

Maria Hill appeared on exactly none of the company’s org-charts. As far as Tony knew, she answered only to Fury, and her job description was ‘whatever Fury wants me to do.’

She always stood just a little stiffly, like she was about to sprout wings out of her shoulder blades or something and it was a little uncomfortable. Today, dropping into Tony’s office, she looked even stiffer than usual, if such a thing were even possible.

“You have fan-mail,” she said, dropping a bundle of letters and envelopes and one battered-looking priority mail box on his desk. “The mail room guy opened it. You should give him a gift card. There were a few… questionable items in there. The rest of it is clean. And--” She held out an expensive piece of stationary. “This. Which is not entirely fan mail.”

Tony winced as he glanced at the box. “I swear, I don’t know how they get the address here,” he said apologetically. He had a post office box set up for his cam work -- reviewing toys and reading steamy correspondence was one of his regular shows. He didn’t know why his viewers insisted on tracking down a more personal mailing address.

He could only be grateful none of them had found out his home address.

Then he turned over the envelope and all thoughts of his fans dried up and blew away. That was his mother’s handwriting.

He hadn’t heard from her since Howard had disowned him. He’d seen her, once or twice, on the news, but not in person, even from across the street. He’d sent her a wedding announcement a couple of months ago, after he and Bucky had tied the knot -- he’d known better than to try to send her an invitation to the wedding -- but hadn’t heard back.

He glanced up, but Hill was gone again, like some kind of freaky spy.

Well, if she’d brought it to him instead of letting the mail room handle it, then he couldn’t really be blamed for opening it on the job, could he? He sliced through the thick paper with the tip of a screwdriver and pulled out the delicate, pastel page inside.

_Dearest Antonio,_

_It has been a great while since we spoke, so allow me to congratulate you on all that you have accomplished. I received your announcement, and I wish you very well, and very happy. Unfortunately, your father was not so filled with felicitations as I, and the letter was lost to me, thus my excuse for being tardy in so delivering them to you._

_When more recent news reached me, through a stock report for your employer, I thought perhaps I could get in touch with you there. I do not know how long it will take for this to reach you, and perhaps you best of all will understand why I do this so discreetly -- I shall take luncheon at Al Di La’s trattoria every Thursday, from 1 until 3, if you would like to meet me. If you would not, please do drop a note there for me, and I certainly will respect your wishes._

_Otherwise, I should enjoy a lunch with you some time in the weeks to come._

_Mamma_

Tony read it over again, though he had to put it on his desk because his hands were shaking too much to hold it. Without quite looking away from it -- as if it might turn into smoke the instant he took his eyes off it -- he fumbled for his phone and called Bucky.

“Barnes, hold on -- No, it’s not done yet, stop botherin’ me and I might get some work done,” Bucky said, and then, “All right, go.”

“I got a letter from my mother,” Tony said. His voice almost didn’t shake.

“I take it back,” Bucky said softly, “I ain’t gettin’ any work done. Are you okay, baby boy?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t... She wants me to meet her for lunch.”

“You need an excuse not to go, backup, or what?” Tony could hear the rolling chair in Bucky’s office swiveling; it had a squeak, which meant Bucky had turned in his chair and was looking out the window.

“I...” Tony glanced at the calendar, and then at the clock. “I think I’m going to take the afternoon off. You have that meeting this afternoon, right?” He didn’t even know why he’d asked; Bucky had been going over his primary points at breakfast. “I’ll see you at home, after?”

“Yeah, Coulson’s breathing down my neck as we speak--” There was a muffled protest, and then Bucky shifted the phone a little, “if you don’t want me to say it, _don’t do it_.”

The two of them exchanged words for a moment, and then Bucky closed the door firmly behind someone. He came back on the line. “Are you sure-- I could probably come down with something if you need me.” Which was probably a lie; Fury wouldn’t _fire _Bucky for flaking out on the meeting with Alchem-Ex, but it would be close, especially for something less than a death in the family, or actual projectile vomiting. It was comforting, though, that Bucky would offer.

Just knowing that Bucky would do it if Tony wanted was enough to give him some strength. “No. I’ve got this. Just... I dunno. I’m going to want a drink or two tonight, I expect. I just wanted a little moral support.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, his tone a strange mix of relieved and remorseful at the same time. They both knew what a big deal this meeting was; Bucky’d been working the project for months now. “You text me if you need an extraction, okay?”

“I will,” Tony promised. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Bucky said, then, bracingly. “It’ll be okay, you know that, right? No matter what, we’ll figure it out. And, you know, you don’t have to-- well, you know, right? You can walk away, any time. Yes, Coulson, Jesus-- Look, I gotta run before Jeffrey shits all over my slide deck.”

“You go ahead,” Tony said. “Knock ‘em dead. I got this.” He took a deep breath. He hoped he had this.

Bucky was talking to Coulson again before the phone even disconnected. Tony glanced at the clock; half an hour until the Big Meeting started. About an hour until Maria Stark would be taking a table at the usually _impossible to get reservations_ trattoria. 

She wouldn’t have called in favors (or promised them) just to tell Tony off, right?

It took him longer than the two minutes it should have to compose an email saying he was taking the afternoon off for personal matters. He could walk to Al Di La, and that would burn up a large chunk of the hour, and maybe work off some of his nervous energy.

Shield’s building was secured, badges, pin codes, and biometrics; mostly because that’s what Shield _sold _\-- security. The door guard gave Tony a little two fingered salute on his way out. The weather was breezy, cool enough that Tony was glad he generally wore a sport coat over his ironic tees while at work. A quick glance around -- he’d been caught unawares a few times by yellow journalists and sneaky photographers who were trying to make a story out of the fallen rich boy. He didn’t much care if they took pictures of him, but when they asked for statements, that was just dull. But there was no one.

He wasn’t usually recognized on the sidewalks -- or at least, not accosted -- so he just tucked his hands into his pockets. He looked around a bit to re-orient, as he’d never gone to Al Di La from this direction, and set off down the sidewalk.

Waiting to cross a street, he saw a poster advertising some strip bar; the lady drawn on the poster was contorted into some impossible position. Well, maybe it wasn’t _entirely_ impossible. Tony considered it, working out the angles and logistics. He thought he _might_ be able to fold himself that way, but he might need help unfolding when it was done.

Maybe he’d see if Bucky wanted to help him try it out. It could be a fun thing to do on a cam show.

He grimaced. What did it say about him that he’d seen a sexy position and his first thought had been to show it off to his cam viewers, and not his husband? Not for the first time, he wondered if he ought to retire from Chaturbate, now that he was married and gainfully employed.

Not that Bucky had ever suggested that he should quit. Bucky was a firm believer in bodily autonomy. He even occasionally joined Tony on the screen. But it just seemed... weird. Maybe.

Or maybe it was weird that it _wasn’t_ weird, that Bucky greeted Tony with a smile after each performance, asked how it had gone and tugged him in for a kiss, just as if Tony had come home from a more normal -- well, less controversial -- job.

Turning the problem over in his thoughts, Tony lost track of the time. Before he quite realized it, he was standing in front of the trattoria, blinking. Well. At least he hadn’t been fretting about his mother the whole way.

He shoved his fingers through his hair and buttoned his sport coat, and pushed through the door.

Tony had been with his mother to Italy a few times, when he was very young and hadn’t yet become classified as a hopeless disappointment. Al Di La smelled like those few trips; heaven and pasta and clams and wine, with a heavy hand on the cheese grater.

“Mr. Stark,” the hostess said as he approached the podium. “Your mother is expecting you. This way, please.”

Tony followed her into the airy little space, thanked her and slid into the seat across from his mother without quite looking at her. He unfolded his napkin and spread it over his lap. “Hi, Mamma,” he said, trying for casual. “I got your note.”

Maria Stark was from the northern part of Italy, blond and delicate and pale. She wore a peach dress that gave her a little bit of color, and a necklace crafted to look like flowers, each petal and leaf a precious or semiprecious stone. It was a little on the tacky side; Tony knew that, because Howard had said so when seven-year-old Tony had given it to her as a birthday present. “Thank you for joining me, darling,” she said. “I hope it’s not inconvenient.”

“It’s a little bit of a walk from the office,” he said, “but not so out of the way that I had to take the subway.” He almost reached for the fork, just to have something to fiddle with, but stopped himself before he could get there, detouring to pick up his water glass instead. “Have you been well?” Inane, pointless conversation. He’d learned to hold his end up while still in gradeschool.

“Quite well,” she said, which is what she said when there was very little _well _about it. Not sick; Maria and her cronies never hid it when anyone had been ill, even if it was about themselves. Old biddies, she’d told him once with the air of someone confiding a secret, like to talk about their health, and having someone else start the conversation was a blessing. “I’m quite glad to see you.” She hesitated for a moment, and then reached out and patted his hand like he was back in school and giving her a report-card to sign.

“It’s... good to see you, too,” Tony said. It actually was, he realized. He loved Bucky, and they kept their lives filled with friends, but he’d missed his mother.

Maria glanced down at Tony’s hand, then offered her lovely smile, the one that made her entire face glow. “Tell me about your young man, then? Are you happy?”

Tony smiled, thinking of Bucky. He couldn’t seem to help it. “Bucky’s _wonderful_. He’s so sweet--” except when he wasn’t sweet at all, but that wasn’t anything Tony particularly wanted to discuss with his mother. “--and thoughtful and...” Ug, he was gushing. “I’m happy,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

The waiter came out, brought a loaf of sliced focaccia and oil and cheeses. Took Tony’s order, refreshed Maria’s afternoon cocktail. Maria filled him in on little tidbits; the latest gossip about various society people and their adventures. They talked all the way around Howard, sometimes getting close to mentioning Tony’s father, but all he was seemed to be an aside in Maria’s stories, “well, and of course, your father couldn’t miss it,” and the like. It was… calm. Almost reassuring really, the way the rules of Maria’s status kept her from speaking of anything that might be _unpleasant_.

The appetizers came out while she discussed fashion and one of the catwalk shows that Tony’s friend, Janet Van Dyne had done, launching a new line. And she listened intently while Tony described his job, and the foibles of his boss.

The waiter was just coming back to refill glasses and inquire if they were ready for the next course, when-- “Tony?” an unfamiliar voice squawked, startled.

Tony looked up into a face he’d never seen before. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

The man was good looking, in a trying-too-hard way, with a wide, starstruck smile. “Well, not, you know, like officially, but I thought that was you, I was saying to my friends that I thought it was, and they said it wasn’t, but I was pretty sure it _was_. Even if I haven’t seen you in street clothes--” he waved a hand at Tony’s… well, everything “--before, you’ve got one of those faces. Big fan, I gotta say. Oh, oh, right. You… I’m HammerTime. Uh, Hammer. Justin Hammer. That’s me.”

Oh _Christ_, one of his _cam show_ fans. In front of his _mother_. It wasn’t like she didn’t _know_ about that; Howard had certainly gone out of his way to try to embarrass Tony with it in public. But still, it would be crass to wave it in front of her. “Right,” Tony said slowly. “It’s nice to meet you, Justin. Let me introduce _my mother_, Mrs. Stark.” He laid enough emphasis on _mother_ that he hoped Hammer would take a hint and go away.

Hammer wasn’t even one of the regulars that Tony actually _liked_. StrangeAttraction probably wouldn’t be rude enough to introduce himself like that.

“Nice to meetcha,” Hammer said, clicking his teeth and giving his mother double-finger guns. “Tell ya, I’ve met some celebs and youtubers in my day, and Tony here, he’s just… mwah, the best. Blows ‘em all… away. Can I get, you know, maybe a selfie?” He leaned in close to Tony, not even waiting for permission, phone already in hand. “Gotta prove to the guys that I actually _met you_.”

Tony gritted his teeth and let Hammer take the selfie. “Well, it’s been nice,” he said brightly.

Hammer moved to pull out a chair, as if he was going to sit down with them -- all but stealing one of their bread slices -- when Maria gave him that _look_. Tony remembered that look, the _I’m very disappointed_ look. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Hammer, but I’m sure your friends are missing your company terribly.”

“What?” Hammer stopped, hand only inches away from their bread basket. “Oh, yeah, oh, of course, they are. Very popular guy, I am-- just, here with friends.” He scuttled away, like a cat that spotted a vacuum cleaner.

“Well, that was… enlightening,” Maria said. 

Tony covered his face with one hand. “What a--” He cut himself off before he’d say anything he didn’t want his mother hearing. “That’s never happened before.”

“It probably won’t be the last time,” Maria said, matter-of-fact. “You’d be surprised how long that sort of career choice will follow you around.” She didn’t look particularly upset, or angry, or even embarrassed.

Tony huffed and took a couple of gulps of water. “If you brought me down here to lecture me about my _career choices_\--” He put finger quotes around the phrase. “--let me stop you there.”

Maria eyed him over her wine goblet, “That’s remarkably short-sighted of you, darling, as I know all about it.” She took a breath, and then added, “_from experience_.”

Tony stuttered to a halt, like DUM-E running out of battery. “What? No.” He recovered enough to shake his head and put down the water glass. “No way.”

"I had a life, dear boy, and a career, long before I met your father," she said. "Did you never listen to the gossip? Or did you really believe the scandal with our marriage was that your father was so much older?"

Tony stared at his mother. “You’re the one who told me never to listen to gossip,” he pointed out, aware that it was the most minor, least important thing she’d just said. “Are you telling me that when you and Dad met, you were...” He couldn’t say it.

"A lingerie model," Maria said. "Out and out… _pornography_ was quite illegal in Italy at the time. But, of course, everyone knew. Your father makes much of the money the Carbonells have, but we were _nuevo riche_. Your grandfather makes one patent for… integrated circuits. That Howard uses as an excuse to try to buy him off. But we met because your father came to one of my _modeling_ sessions."

Tony rather felt as if he might never blink again. “You. Were a lingerie model.”

"Yes," Maria said. "Your way seems more… personal. In my day, I was only one of a dozen different people on the set, lighting and make up and costumers. I was a thing to be photographed, not an active participant."

Tony sat back in his seat. “...Huh.” Half of him wanted to excuse himself to the restroom so he could furiously google it, see if he could turn up any examples. The other half of him wanted never, _ever_, to so much as _think_ about it again. His father chasing after a model, yeah, that made sense. Howard had that kind of reputation. But how had she-- _Wait._

“My way?” Tony’s voice spiraled upward despite his efforts to keep it steady. “How do you know about _my way_? Oh, Christ, please tell me you didn’t _watch it?_” Tony recognized the usernames of a few dozen regulars, but a lot of viewers only showed up once or twice and then moved on.

"Of course not," Maria said. "I wouldn't do that. That would be terribly inappropriate. I'm your _mother_."

“Oh, thank god.”

"I asked Carol Danvers to watch it and give me a review," she added dryly.

“What?!” Tony screeched and then clapped his hands over his mouth when half the dining room turned to look his way. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t. You _did_. Oh my _god_.”

"She's seen you with your clothes off before," Maria pointed out.

“We were _eight_,” Tony felt compelled to point out. For a couple of seconds, utterly irrelevantly, he wondered if Carol had tipped. He dropped his head into his hands. “Maybe I _should_ quit,” he mumbled.

"Why would you do that?" Maria dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, leaving a pink lipstick mark behind.

Tony waved one hand without lifting his head from the other. “I mean... I’m _married_ now. Isn’t that what married people do? Settle down, act responsible?”

"Sometimes," Maria said. "But it's a decision you should make because it's right for you. Not because of what society thinks. Or, for that matter, what your father thinks. I gave it up when I moved here. But sometimes that is a decision I wish I had made with more thought for my own desires. I was very good. I could have been _great_."

She had been beautiful; Tony knew that. He’d seen her wedding pictures, pictures of her and Howard from before his birth. “Yeah? I’m... trying to imagine Dad’s reaction, and totally failing.”

"Howard did not approve," she said, "although I believe it was more jealousy than any true _moral_ opinion."

“Well, he sure as he-- heck has an opinion about _my_ life,” Tony grumbled. “But I don’t care about _him_. I just wonder. Bucky would never try to tell me that I can’t keep doing my shows. That’s not how he is. But I do wonder if he’d be _happier_ if I quit.”

"The question you should ask," Maria said, "is will _you_ be happier? Your husband sets a great store by your happiness, as well he should. Do you think he will be happy if he clips your wings?"

“I...” Tony had to stop and think about it. Bucky had never asked Tony to skip a show. Sometimes he logged in and chatted with the regulars during a show, but he never threw his status as Tony’s boyfriend/fiancé/husband around. And of course he enjoyed it when Tony ended a show still keyed up and wanting more, but he also seemed to like taking care of Tony when Tony was wiped out, utterly exhausted. “I don’t think so.”

"Then, if you enjoy what you do, you should keep doing it," Maria said. "How's your osso bocco? You've hardly touched your lunch."

Tony blinked down at his plate. It had about three bites taken out of it, and Tony didn’t remember a single one of them. Mindfully, he cut off another piece and ate it. “It’s fantastic,” he told her. “I guess I just... have a lot to think about.”

"Your grandmother would say it's much easier to think on a full stomach," Maria told him. "Do keep me informed what you decide. We should do this more regularly. I have missed you, very much. I think I'm only now realizing how similar we are. For many years, I thought you were more Howard's son than mine, and I was only incidental in your creation. How nice to find we are instead, very much alike."

Tony grinned. “Yeah, that’s... That’s nice. If you can find somewhere closer to where I work, I’ll even drag Bucky along so you can meet him. I think you’d like him.”

"If he loves you," Maria said, "than he shows good sense and I'm certain I will adore him."

Tony ducked his head, feeling shy in a way that stripping naked and jerking off in front of a camera several times a week never had. That was just his body. This... This was his heart.


End file.
